The Phantom Feet Upstairs
by Moonlight Pheonix
Summary: "He's not your friend. He's a ghost. Come out, Dean! I know you're there!" Dean didn't survive the fire, but he continued to stick around, haunting his little brother. Ghost!Dean.


**Author's Notes:**

**This is my first Supernatural fanfiction and it's just a one shot. Please read and review.**

**And I don't own Supernatural.**

* * *

"Hey, Dad? Can I go out and play with a friend?" Sam looked up at his dad, all wide eyes and hopeful smile. The sunlight was streaming in through the glass doors to his left, highlighting chestnut hair and sparkling eyes. "Please! Just in the backyard!" He smiled toothily, happy they had settled down for a couple weeks while John was hunting.

"Who are you playing with, Sammy?" John asked, curious to know who Sam had made a friend with. Sam was so antisocial at times, it was a wonder. But a friend was good. That was definitely good. And Sam was eight and he could see the boy right through the windows. It should have been fine.

"I'm playing with my friend, Dean!" Sam laughed, traipsing towards the backyard with a childish innocence. John froze, staring at Sam in a horrified stupor. Sam was rather old for an imaginary friend. And Dean…of all the names. He had to choose Dean. He had to choose Dean.

_"Dean! Stay with me, Dean!"_

"What's Dean like, Sammy?" John asked tersely, praying to God that it was nothing. But it was never nothing with the Winchesters. It was never nothing. It was always something.

"He likes to listen to the music you play in the car. And he's got brown hair and really green eyes. And he's really tall! And he floats! And he's really good at finger painting. And he says he's my big brother!" Sam spat out eagerly, smiling as he spoke about his friend. "He said he would always protect me!" Sam didn't even notice the way his breath appeared in front of him, visible despite the eighty degree weather outside.

"Dean, where are you?" John practically snarled out, pulling Sam to him hard. His head was whipping around, already alert and guarded.

_"Dad? My chest hurts. Can't breathe."_

"Ow!" Sam shouted as John pulled him close. "What are you doing, Dad?!" John picked him up, holding him close as he reached for the gun on the counter. He wasn't going to take any chances with his son. His only son. His only Sammy.

"He's not your friend. He's a ghost. Come out, Dean! I know you're there!" John shouted, gun cocked in one hand as he whirled around.

Dean appeared before his father, almost shamefaced. "Hi, Dad." John stared for a split second before he shot the apparition and moved backwards towards the door.

"What's going on, Dad?!" Sam shouted from his father's chest, eyes wide and confused as he looked from his father to where his…brother? had stood. There was just a bullet shell in the wall and a chill going through the house now.

"We're leaving. Get your stuff. Don't talk to him if he reappears." Sam just nodded, running upstairs to get his meager things. Most of it was still in his duffle anyways. Sam continued packing, wincing as he heard another gunshot downstairs. They'd have to leave soon to avoid the neighbors.

Sam heard three more gunshots before they left the house.

Safely inside the car, Sam decided it was finally time for him to understand what was going on. "Dad, who was he?!"

"Not now, Sam," John said gruffly, trying to ignore the sign that signaled he was leaving town. He'd have to ask Bobby to get another hunter on it. He couldn't stay there anymore. Not with a ghost haunting his son.

Not with…Not with Dean there.

"He talked to me! He knew me! I deserve to know who that was!" Sam insisted, shouting angrily. There was a long pause before John spoke.

"That was Dean. That was your brother. He died saving you from the fire when you were a baby."

_"Mr. Winchester, your son…he died in the ambulance. He inhaled too much smoke. There was nothing we could do."_

* * *

"Sam!" John shouted as the bullet tore towards his son. He couldn't move, bound to the chair like the hunter had planned. Damn it, he should have known never to trust the bastard! If he hadn't, Sam wasn't going to die. Sam was going to die for another of his mistakes. And then he would be the last one remaining of their little shattered family.

And then he was there.

The ghost.

Dean. Dean was there. Dean was still clinging to earth and he was still protecting Sam and why?! It had taken John a second to recognize him, but he just looked so similar and once he saw the eyes it was only a matter of putting a name to the face.

"I won't let you hurt him!" Dean was shouting, bullet lodged between his eyes. But it wasn't in Sam's neck like intended. Sam would live. Sam would be okay. And that was all that mattered.

That was all that mattered to Dean, protecting his little brother. That was all that he'd taken to the afterlife with him. That was what was keeping him here, then? John could only guess. They'd burned Dean's body immediately after his death and Dean's stint as a ghost was puzzling him. What could be making him hold on? Just Sam.

Just the need to save Sam.

Blood was dripping from Dean's head, muted grey like the rest of him. He'd grown, John couldn't help but notice. He looked like he would have in real time, roughly twenty seven now. But he was grey, skin, and clothes, and everything, everything but those green eyes of his. Those terrible green eyes that reminded him so much of Mary.

The ground beneath Dean cracked underneath the onslaught of his anger, stretching towards the hunter on the other side of the gun. The hunter, Gordon was his name, was glaring, spitting at the family.

"Got a ghost fighting your battles for you, Sam?" Gordon taunted, sitting back on his heels as he watched Sam. And then it dawned on Gordon that Sam had no idea what was going on either. Dean positively growled, disappearing for a second to reappear in front of Gordon. Sam was just staring, still unsure of exactly what was going on, of who this was. He didn't remember his brother like John dead, never could.

"You will never touch my baby brother again," Dean snarled out, bringing his hand back to shove it through Gordon's rib cage. "I hope you die nice and slow so that I can rip your soul to shreds before you pass on," he hissed in Gordon's ear, smiling sadistically.

"Dean!" John shouted, staring at his son. He wanted to kill Gordon just as much as Dean. Hell, he would skin the son of a bitch just for looking at Sam the wrong way, but Dean was seriously approaching angry spirit levels and once he crossed that line, there would be no coming back. It didn't look like Dean would be leaving soon. He'd be sticking around and that was fucked up in itself, but John needed to make sure that Dean couldn't hurt him or Sam now. "Let him go!" Sam's head snapped towards his father.

But Gordon got to him first, dispelling an iron round through the ghost. Dean disappeared with an angry shout, vanishing without a trace. Gordon was coughing, gripping at his chest with his hand. "Well, that was…interesting…Thought you only had one son, John." he asked, as he tried to right himself.

"Dean died over twenty years ago. He's clinging and we can't manage to lose him." Gordon laughed at that, smiling toothily despite the blood present in his mouth. Sam was still on guard, finally having reached the gun he kept hidden.

"The Great John Winchester can't manage to exorcise his own son?" He sighed before turning his gun to Sam. "I guess we'll just have to see if you can get rid of this one."

"I told you. You will never touch Sam again," Dean growled lowly from behind Gordon, wrist deep in Gordon's chest. "You'll never touch anything again." Gordon gasped, hands unable to move quite right as he tried to get around and shoot Dean. But things weren't moving the way they were supposed to and he soon found himself on the floor.

And dead.

"Dean." The ghost looked up from Gordon's corpse, looking at John with level eyes. They were steeled and calm, no sign of the righteous anger he'd just demonstrated less than a minute ago. But they weren't loving.

"Gonna shoot me again, Dad?" he asked, unable to keep the small bite out of his voice. "Gonna shoot me five times as I try to tell you that all I want to do is protect my little brother."

"Not this time, Dean. Not this time." John sighed, looking away. He couldn't do it, couldn't look his almost son in the face. "Have you been following us this entire time?"

"Just Sam. He's the one I'm attached too." Dean crossed his arms, sending a small smile towards Sam before he turned to glare at his father again. "You could almost consider me his guardian angel," Dean said with almost a sneer. "Mom liked to use that phrase a lot. Angels are watching over you. Yeah, angels definitely watched over me." He let out a huff, turning away for a second. "But I'll never let anything bad happen to Sam, Dad. I won't. I'll protect Sammy."

"Dean?" Dean turned to his little brother, his first true smile breaking out. It scared Sam a bit, how easily Dean knew him, wanted to protect him. How much had the ghost seen? How much did he know? After his first appearance, Sam had bugged John for everything about Dean, but Dean had been only four when he died. There wasn't anything to really know.

"Hi, Sammy. It's been awhile." Dean shuffled his feet, looking almost a little abashed. It had been years since Sam had thought Dean was his imaginary friend. "You remember me? All the fun times we had when you were a kid?" They'd talked for months before Dean was banished. Dean had been the one good thing in his childhood, his one friend.

And then you know, he turned out to be his dead brother. Typical Winchester luck.

"Why are you protecting me?" Sam finally asked, staring at his brother. That was his brother. That was his _brother_.

"Because, you're gonna have a hard life, Sam. There's no way around it. I'm just here to help make it easier," Dean said gently, eying his brother protectively. John watched as a bystander, almost hypnotized by the way they interacted. Dean was so familiar with Sam, and Sam was meeting a complete stranger, yet…they were so comfortable with each other.

"That doesn't tell me why though. Why are you here, Dean? You should be in Heaven. Not here," Sam insisted quietly, words filling the space. Dean's face fell immediately and he looked away for a second before he disappeared. Sam blinked, looking around wildly.

"The only place I belong is with my family," Dean said from his new spot next to John, where he was untying him. Sam's eyes turned to rest on his back. "Don't tell me you're rejecting me too, Sammy. Not you. Please, not you." There was almost a childish tone to his voice, a small whine in there that betrayed his inner panic. As soon as John was free, he moved towards Sam, pulling him backwards, trying to find his gun.

"You should go to Heaven, Dean," Sam repeated, firmer. John knelt down, picking up Gordon's abandoned gun. Not like he'd need it now. And trouble was coming. He could feel it. "You should pass on."

"I'm trying to protect you!" Dean shouted, angry then, desperate then, begging then. He rounded on Sam, face contorted into some image of pain and despair and pure utter longing that it tore at his heart. There was something so young and hopeless about that face that made him look like a child. "Please! I don't…I don't want to pass on! I want to stay here! I just want to protect you. You won't even know I'm here!"

"You need to go, Dean," John said, backing Sam up. His hand tightened around the gun, a combination of nerves and preparation. But nothing could have ever really prepared him for this.

"You don't even matter!" Dean yelled and John found himself propelled backward, slamming into a wall. "Sam is the only one I need to protect! But you!" Dean appeared in front of him, hands around his neck, face contorted into something hateful and evil and…vengeful. "You're the one who told him I shouldn't be here! This is your fault!"

"Dad!" Dean barely turned before the salt round scattered him. "You okay?" Sam asked, looking for any signs of harm other than the handprints bruised into his throat. John coughed, but nodded. "We need to exorcise him. Soon," Sam said, looking around wildly in case he would come back.

"I think I know someone who can help."

* * *

"John Winchester, I haven't heard from you in ages!"

"Hello, Missouri," John said tiredly as he walked towards the large woman. She smiled easily, but it soon died on her lips as she looked at him, reading him easily. Winchester, thick skulls, but never impenetrable.

"How's your son?" John opened his mouth, but was cut off from talking as Missouri bowled right over him. "Not that one. The dead one. How's Dean?" John sighed, knowing Missouri. She was always straight to business. Comfort came in a little bit.

"He's sticking around," John revealed, feeling the tension take its place between his shoulder blades. Always had, even way back in Vietnam. "We can't figure out how to get rid of him. We need your help to get to him to pass on."

"Well it's a good thing you didn't bring him here, but are you sure it's so smart to leave Sam alone when he's bein' haunted?" Missouri asked, trying to wrap her head around Winchester logic. Sometimes even she couldn't understand that.

"Sam can take care of himself. He won't talk to Dean. And he won't let Dean get the jump on him," John promised, but couldn't stop the small twinge of worry that filled him at Missouri's words. Still, Sam could manage it. Sam could always manage it.

"Sam grew up nice?" Missouri asked as she bustled John inside, already making preparations to get some sort of food. "Course he did," she said after a second, thinking. "Handsome too, I'd reckon." Missouri smiled to herself at that, moving to the kitchen.

"Can you help us?" John finally asked, staring at his hands. He felt useless and he hated that. He just wanted some good solid facts to run off. He wanted everything to go normally so he could go on with his life, so that Sam could go on with his life. He didn't want Dean chasing them like this anymore.

He just wanted Dean to not be in anymore pain.

"I'll see what I can do, John, but I'll be honest. I haven't seen a ghost this clingy in years." John nodded, running a hand down his face wearily. Missouri sighed. "Have you been to the old house yet? It might trigger something."

"Does anyone live there?" John asked, taking the idea in pretty quickly it seemed. Missouri blinked, surprised that John Winchester of all people would take her advice so fast. Jesus, perhaps the man really was in need of some help.

"No one that I know of. The place has been abandoned since last year. We had a hunter come through and clean up a poltergeist in the place after it killed the family that took residence. It's been empty since then." Missouri sighed, making calculations on if they'd be back in time for dinner.

"Alright. I'm headed there then," John announced, standing up quickly. The sooner this was over, the better. It was wearing Sam down quickly and he was going just as fast.

"I'll grab my coat," Missouri said. She didn't even have to turn around to shout out, "And don't even try to say that I can't come!"

* * *

"Oh dear," Missouri whispered as they entered the house.

'What wrong?" John asked immediately, halting their progress. Sam turned back as well, looking at the senior psychic expectantly. Missouri was looking at the two of them, seemingly out of words for once. Or at least, searching for the right ones.

"It's Dean. His soul's connected to the house. He can't get out. He's stuck here," she stated, eyes moving towards the second floor, towards the only place Dean could be. "Oh, the poor boy. He's just a child still."

"Let's go together, in case Dean shows up," John whispered as they moved towards the stairs, guarded and alert. Sam didn't say a word, understanding just how freaked his father was by the case. It was bad for him, but it must have been even worse for his dad. His dead son turned vengeful spirit.

"Dean? Are you there?" Sam called out, stepping into the hallway atop the stairs. He paused, hearing something moving. And it was moving fast, running around. Throwing out an arm, he stalled his father. He turned, looking down the hallway.

"Dad?!" And then something was running past him on phantom feet, pushing past him with little care for personal space. "Dad, I can't find Sammy!" Something was running, searching through every room. Searching for his brother or his father. Oh God.

Dean.

Four-year-old Dean was still running through the house, looking for Sam. And he thought the house was going to burn on top of him. He was spending eternity trapped in these hallways, trying to protect Sam, trying to find him when no one was there.

No wonder he'd twisted that into some futile ideal of protecting Sam. He was just trying to break out of whatever mutilated afterlife he was in, mind still trapped in the hallways as his soul chased after Sam.

"Dad?!" And he was screaming like his life depended on it. Sam choked, unable to really make a sound. Twenty-three years like this, stuck running through make believe corridors as he tried to protect Sam. John gasped, gripping the railing. His surefire hands were shaking and his voice wavered when he finally spoke.

"He's still just a child," John whispered, turning to Missouri. Dean continued to run through the hallway in muted grey until he finally disappeared. "He's been stuck here this entire time?" Sam heard Dean shout downstairs, running around.

"No. He's always been stuck with Sam, but this is how everything has looked to him. He's always looking for Sam, always lost in these hallways in his head. He can only really get out when Sam needs him. But other than that, he spends it being tugged along, lost and confused," Missouri admitted, looking over the banister to watch Dean make another lap around the house.

"I think if you wait outside, Missouri," John said numbly and the psychic nodded. "Stay out of the line of fire."

"Oh, you don't need to remind me of that," Missouri shot back as she descended the staircase and made to leave. "Don't do anything stupid, John. I've got a chicken back at home and it feeds three. That means I need three mouths!" she shouted, closing the door. But her humor was lost on Sam and John. They were still too busy watching Dean run through the house.

Always running.

They stood there for another second before Dean appeared upstairs, moving towards the nursery. "Dad?!"

"Dean," John whispered, and the boy turned, looking towards his father. "Dean!" John moved into the hallway, falling to his knees and dropping his gun. "Oh God, Dean!" He didn't even try to hide the fact that he was crying.

"Dad! I can't find Sammy! And the house is on fire! And what's going on?!" John opened up his arms, allowing the child to run to him. Dean was crying, jumping into his father's arms. The first feeling of comfort after years of being lost. John hugged Dean to him, burying his face in his shoulder. "Dad! I have to find Sammy!"

"It's okay, Dean," John reassured, running his hand through Dean's short hair repeatedly. "I'll take care of Sammy now. I'll take care of him." John was thankful that Sam wasn't watching too close. Close enough to be aware. Far enough to leave personal space.

"But you told me-" Dean began to protest before John could gently cut him off.

"It's okay, Dean. You can move on. I'll protect Sam," John promised, nodding kindly. It was strange for Sam to see his father acting like that, less gruff and more loving. And he couldn't help but wonder if that was what he would have grown up with if Dean and Mary hadn't died.

"No! I have to protect Sammy!" Dean shouted desperately, gripping at John's shirt. "I need to protect him!" he insisted, conveying every ounce of desperation into his words that he could.

"You never did have as good a handle over him as I did," a quiet voice from their right remarked.

"Mary?" John asked, unable to look up from Dean, still just holding him tight. Could it be that the house had trapped both of them? Could he expect his wife, a vengeful spirit, or some sort of twisted in between? And was he really going to have to kill her?

"Hello, John, Sam," she offered with a smile. John finally looked up, seeing his wife, how she appeared twenty-three years ago in the nursery before she burned on the ceiling. She was there. And she was sane. And she was…She was right there and he'd missed her. John had missed her so much.

"Mom?" Sam ventured hesitantly, only able to guess really. He'd seen maybe two pictures. His father never talked about her at all, always too broken up about it. But that was his mother, wasn't it?

"You grew up so well," Mary said softly, looking her son up and down with a kind smile. She was everything Sam thought she'd be, right down to the apple pie and cinnamon smell.

"Mom!" Dean shouted, noticing her from his father's arms. He detangled himself, hopping towards his mother excitedly. "Mom!"

"Shh, it's alright, Dean," she said quietly, kneeling down to hug him as she shushed him. "We'll take care of your brother now. You go on to Heaven. I'll follow you shortly," she assured, smiling as she put a hand to his cheek. But Dean took a step back, frowning.

"I don't want to go. I don't want to go alone!" he shouted, looking at his mother distrustfully.

"Dean," she said sternly, trying to regain control of the situation. She couldn't let him spin out. She was so close to getting him to cross over. And he was so close to turning into a full blown vengeful spirit.

"No!" The windows shattered as he shouted, blowing out. Sam gave a brief thought to Missouri, hoping that she'd taken John's warning and had gotten out of the line of fire. "I'm not leaving!" Dean shouted, and then he was back to his age in real time, staring down his family from their height. "I won't leave. Not without Sam. I'm gonna protect him, even if I have to do it from the afterlife!"

"Dean, no!" Mary shouted. Dean disappeared and they were all whirling around, looking for him. John looked at his wife hopelessly, offering up silent apologies for everything as they searched. "Sam!" Mary yelled a split second before Dean reappeared, slamming into him.

Sam choked as Dean's hands wrapped around his throat, pushing him down to the ground. Dean looked up for a second, blasting back his parents with what power he had. Just the two brothers were left, Dean straddling his brother in the hallway he'd spent years running in.

"I'm gonna protect you, Sam!" he shouted fervently with an eager smile. "I'm gonna put you somewhere that no one will ever find and it'll be okay! You'll be safe there! It'll be alright, Sammy! Just us! Just us brothers!" he insisted, and it broke Sam's heart. Because Dean really thought it was for the best. He really thought this would fix things.

He really…He really just wanted to protect his family.

"Dean!" Sam gasps out, scrabbling at his fingers. His gun was out of reach, gone in the initial attack. He was running out of air, black spots dancing along his vision.

"It'll be all over in just a second, Sammy. All over and then the demon will never get you," Dean tried to reassure, nodding appreciatively. Sam gasped again, reaching the end of his air.

"Dean, you're hurting him!" Mary shouted as she resituated herself at the end of the hallway. She'd finally come back, reformed after Dean's blast. "You're killing him, Dean!" Dean's fingers froze, lightening in pressure against Sam's windpipe.

"What?" he asked, looking up at his mother. "No! I wouldn't. I would never hurt Sam!" he shouted, standing up. "No!" Dean stumbled back, looking at Sam on the floor. How had Sam gotten there…No! "I didn't! I couldn't have… No!" Dean moved backwards as John ran to Sam, making sure he was okay. That he…that Dean hadn't done any damage.

"You're hurting Sam, Dean," John argued gently, looking at his son. "You're gonna keep hurting him if you don't move on!" he spat out, unable to quiet his voice. This was getting to be too much and he was so keyed up on adrenaline.

"But I have to protect him!" Dean weakly said. His form flickered slightly and John pressed forward, moving towards Dean slowly. As his father approached him, Dean's eyes widened, big and confused and innocent. "But that's what I have to do. I have to protect Sam." Dean didn't even realize he was crying, so lost and confused for so long. Dean flickered again, but he continued watching his father.

"I'll protect him," John told him, putting a hand on Dean's shoulder. "I'll watch out for him." He pulled Dean in for another hug. "Go and be at peace, son." Dean's form melted for a second, shrinking into the small boy that had died in the fire.

"Dad?" he asked, voice quiet and confused.

"Get out of the fire, Dean. I'll bring your brother. Go."

Dean nodded, running down the stairs, past his mother, past his brother, out the door.

And then he was gone.

* * *

"Goodbye, Mary," John said, cupping his wife's cheek. Sam was outside, waiting by the Impala as his parents said their last goodbyes.

"I'll see you soon, John. Not too soon though," she added with a smile. "I'll take care of Dean. I promise." John nodded and leaned in for one last kiss. He would miss her, but it would be better knowing that he would see her again.

Stepping back, she was gone and he was finally alone. Leaving their house, John stepped onto the lawn and looked back. "Dad, you okay?"

"Yeah, let's just get out of here," John stated, not taking his eyes off the house yet. He took a step backwards towards the car and could hear Sam open the door.

"Bobby's got us a hunt lined up in Arkansas. He thinks it's vampires, but he's not sure." Sam got into the passenger seat, pulling the road map from the glove compartment.

"Yeah, vampires," John muttered as he finally turned from the house. He was doing his best not to imagine the phantom feet that had run through the house for the last twenty-three years. He sat down in the driver's seat and sighed before turning the key in the ignition. The car roared to life, Kansas roaring out over the radio.

"You know, Missouri invited us back to her place for dinner. Chicken to feed three," Sam casually reminded, though he was already scoping out which places the victims had been.

"She'll understand."

John pulled away and only really relaxed when they finally hit the freeway. It was better this way, he thought. No attachments. Just the two of them, running after the road. Always running.

Just father and son.


End file.
